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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227192">A Fate Worse Than Dying</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozzyyy/pseuds/Ozzyyy'>Ozzyyy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Betrayal, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eret Redemption (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I might add more of this later? but i think for now its a one shot, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Maybe - Freeform, Mental Breakdown, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Short One Shot, Sort Of, Traitor Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, kind of, set right after dream gives wilbur the tnt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:54:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozzyyy/pseuds/Ozzyyy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is definitely not okay. But he's sure, he's so positive, that Wilbur will come back and help him. He can fix this. He can be better. He'll make Wilbur change his mind, he can! </p><p>(Spoiler alert; He knows he can't)</p><p>It's usually a joke that Eret looks like Wilbur. They've grown to hate it. Joke and all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>None</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>264</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Fate Worse Than Dying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tw: panic attacks, minor violence, implied child neglect, kind of just straight up lying to a kid </p><p>song title inspired by jubilee line cmon you know how it is</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To call life a living nightmare, right now, was an understatement. Tommy hadn’t moved from his place, standing and staring into the dark forest that Wilbur (And his new best friend Dream) disappeared into. </p><p>	This isn’t real, he swallows, this isn’t real. </p><p>But the longer he stands there the colder the air gets, clung to his skin like the frost was trying to dig under his layers. The horror crept up on him strangling his throat as he lets out, “No.” like he was still only feet away from Wilbur. If the circumstances weren’t so shit, he’d laugh at the absurdity. </p><p>	“No.” His voice rattles as it wrangles out the word, clawing down his vocal chords. It spilled down his cheeks and pooled at his chin. Tommy’s head pounded, like an oncoming headache or migraine. It beat in his skull, words bouncing from wall to wall, trying to escape the cell his head has become. </p><p>	His knees go weak, and Tommy doesn’t hold himself against gravity. He lets himself buckle and grabs fistfulls of grass. Horror now grips his lungs and heart, his body shaking and gasping like he was drowning in grief. A broken cry rips from his lips, even though he bites hard on them. Bile and acid burns the back of his tongue. It’s another bitter reminder of the physical toll he’s taking. </p><p>	Tommy’s heart aches when he thinks of Wilbur, that day after the Election. His hug, his comforting words. He was his brother, his commander. It was him and Wilbur against the world, and they could do it. Could kill every last traitor in this server if they needed to, only if they were by each other’s side. His Wilbur wouldn’t do this. His Wilbur would sweep him into a hug and tell him it would be alright. Ruffle his hair or shove him playfully. Remind him everything wasn’t that bleak. But Wilbur had left, Wilbur had just walked into the dark with a promise of killing most people he knew, or at least not caring if he did. </p><p>	Tommy’s fingers dig into his arms, feeling the phantom touch on his shoulder sweep away like sand in the wind. He was alone. He was alone. </p><p>	“Tommy!” A voice calls, he distantly remarks upon. Blearily he lifts his gaze from the floor to the forest around, and hopes to see Wilbur step back through the treeline. </p><p>	But he can’t tell, not with the tears in his eyes and how dark it was without torches. The moon had long past the clearing, and barely lit the grass. All he saw was the height and curling brown hair. Tommy had been so sure Wilbur was long gone before he broke into tears. And as embarrassed as he was, a dim hope lit in his chest that Wilbur would come back. </p><p>	“‘M sorry.” Tommy mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands. </p><p>“Woah, woah,” Maybe-Wilbur gawks, sounding surprised. Grass crunches closer and Tommy can feel the radiating warmth from a form next to him. Wilbur crouches, catching his wrists with as gentle touch as he could. He approached Tommy with such apprehension, like it’d been months since they last spoke. </p><p>	“I’m sorry Wilbur, I’m sorry-- I’m not weak, I promise. I can keep up, I can do this. I-I didn’t mean to start crying.” </p><p>	The warm hands holding him go still as the dead. </p><p>Tommy keeps his gaze down, warm tracks of tears still streaming down his cheeks. What on earth would Wilbur think of him now? Some stupid kid crying because he walked off after shouting? He wasn’t some sensitive bitch, he should man up!</p><p>	Despite his frustration with his condition, he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. He blabbers on, whispering about how he was going to do better from now on, how he wasn’t going to leave him if Wilbur let him stay. All the time, Wilbur stayed still. Only occasionally through his hiccuping sobs did he rub his thumb up and down his wrist in a comforting circle. He seems stunned as he does so, squeezing his hands to encourage him to keep talking. So Tommy didn’t stop. He sobbed about the town, about how much blaming Tubbo was ridiculous, how much it hurt. </p><p>	He only stopped Tommy once, near the end, when he was in near hysterics about how he was doing the best he could with the towers and traps, how he’d been so stressed he barely slept. <br/>
Then, and only then, did Wilbur press a hand into his shoulder and say, as kind as he could, “Deep breath, Tommy. Take a deep breath.” </p><p>	Tommy had instinctively shaken his head, balling up his hands into fists. He was so lightheaded, his lungs heaving like he was breathing through a straw.</p><p>“Tommy,” He says, a little more seriously now, “You’re hyperventilating, and you need to breathe. Follow me.” Wilbur takes a deep breath in through his nose, squeezing Tommy’s hand in encouragement. </p><p>	Tommy reluctantly tries to take a breath in, though stutters and fumbles through it. He’s back to shaking his head, hiccuping, “I can’t-- I can’t breathe--” </p><p>	“Shh, Tommy it’s okay. You can breathe, you can. I promise. Try again.” </p><p>Tommy breathes in again. It doesn’t happen smoothly, but he gets a fresh breath. Wilbur breathes, low and slow, out his mouth. Tommy tries to mimic, but winces as fresh tears sting his eyes. </p><p>	He’s drowning in guilt. </p><p>They continue like that for a while, Wilbur breathing in first, just to prove to Tommy it was possible, and Tommy following with scattered breath. </p><p>	At some point between breaths, Tommy’s dizziness had passed and turned into exhaustion. His muscles felt like he'd run a marathon. The lead helmet in his head weighted him forward and he rests his head into Wilbur’s shoulder. </p><p>	“‘M sorry.” He mumbles into the, rather thin, fabric. </p><p>	“Just breathe.” Wilbur returns with a tremendously more deep voice than he remembers. Tommy was just so tired, he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. </p><p>	A hand nestles on the back of his neck, pulling him a little closer. The reassurance is better than words. He lets out the last carrying of his cries, thinking meekly about Wilbur’s fairly thin coat being ruined. </p><p>	“Please don’t leave. Don’t leave…” He takes in a shuddering breath, “Don’t leave me alone with this weight. I can’t do it. I can’t… I can’t be the man you want me to be.” </p><p>	“I’m not leaving.” The voice is so sure and almost angry, the hand on the back of his neck tightening protectively. </p><p>	“Promise? Can you promise me, Wilbur?” Tommy says quietly, embarrassed. He’s sure to Wilbur, it all seems so silly. But he needs to hear it. He needs to hear it from him. </p><p>	There’s a long pause, a stiffness overtaking Wilbur’s form. Tommy opens his mouth, ready to take it all back before Wilbur speaks. </p><p>	“I promise, Tommy. I’m not leaving you.” </p><p>Relief washes over him, his weight pouring fully onto the older boy. He nods into his shoulder, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you.” and shutting his eyes. </p><p>	He was almost about to doze off before something odd struck him. </p><p>The smell. </p><p>	It was the strangest thing to notice, at a time like this, but Wilbur was often covered with the smell of gunpowder and the underground. Fresh soil from sparring. Steel. It wasn’t like he consciously smelt his friend, but over the years it had been such a strong scent from Wilbur that it nearly instantly calmed him. </p><p>	This… doesn’t smell like Wilbur. It could be the new clothes, he thinks wearily. But it was so strange. It smelt expensive. Warm. Like freshly cooked bread and long days digging through gravel in the sun. Iron and fresh air. It was almost light. </p><p>	Tommy, though exhausted, opens his eyes and sees the dark grey tee that he’s buried his face into. Wilbur had a coat on when he left, right? Did he leave it? Tommy flexes the hands that he has wrapped around the other’s middle. The body between his arms felt thinner, more lithe. Even the skin tone was paler. </p><p>	Adrenaline and fear rocket through his body because Tommy just realizes, he’s not hugging Wilbur Soot right now. <br/>
“Get off!” He screeches, putting all his force into the arms he uses to push away. Tommy scrambles backwards, hands scraping across stone for some small cuts he’ll regret getting later. </p><p>	He hadn’t done much damage, hands flailing all too awkwardly to make any hard blows, but what he misses he makes up for in distance. In seconds, his back is up against the usually open door into Pogtopia. </p><p>	Tommy’s eyes are wild, but he focuses on the crouched and guilty looking form of Eret, hands up like he was caught in a crime. </p><p>	“Tommy-- Tommy I didn’t mean to--” He scrambles, shoulders tensing. </p><p>	“Stay the fuck away from me!” Tommy shouts, gritting his teeth. </p><p>	“Tommy, please! Hear me out! You were hysteric, I couldn’t get anything through to you. I-I wasn’t going to leave you!” </p><p>	“So you,” Tommy bites back for a moment, voice rising even louder, “You fucking pretended to be my friend, you traitor! Took advantage of-of my vulnerable state to get information out of me?” </p><p>	The barking screams might not deal physical damage, but Eret winces like Tommy slaps him. <br/>
“No. I won’t tell anyone about this, Tommy, I promise--” </p><p>'I promise, Tommy. I’m not leaving you.' </p><p>	Tommy’s eyes widen and in a moment of rage and fury, he throws the nearest item at him with all his force. A rock, a little smaller than his palm, goes flying and hits Eret right in his shoulder with a satisfying crack.</p><p>He doesn’t look to see the damage, turning to pull mounds of dirt aside. Tommy needed to get inside. Needed to forget everything he saw. Everything he heard.  </p><p>	His breaths are ragged and uneven, barely pushing through the dirt in front of the entrance.</p><p>	“St-stay--” Tommy clears his throat, gasping, “Stay the fuck away from me!” He shouts. He spares a last glance at the other, seeing Eret pick up the rock Tommy threw and examine it with such pity. He barely even reacted to the hit, simply peering downwards through his black sunglasses with shame. </p><p>	Tommy pushes the dirt back into place and runs down the stairs into the ravine. </p>
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